Fair Trade
by The Elemental
Summary: Five Pilots, plus a friend, a bomb in a VERY public place, and a strange woman who knows how to stop it. Of course, *no one* expected what she'd want in return.


Ah yes, another story. Since I came back from my Con- (ANIME NORTH ROCKED- Who Went?) I've _finally_ had time to sit down and write again, something I haven't had a spare moment to do in a while now. So here's another yarn, a few threads different from anything I've written before. And don'r forget to R&R!

(Dedicated to StudioPozyo- Who I think I'm misspelling. Yes, I _will_ write the sequal for Walk Through the Fire, just give me time to study for exams…..And dedicated to all things spandex. Private Joke- read WTtF, if you really want to know {Self inserted plug #1})

Peace, Love and Anarchy!

~The Elemental

Fair Trade:

The address was to one of the seediest parts of town; that place across the tracks where no one went if they had any decent business to do. I stood in front of the bar, squinting at a sign too bullet ridden to distinguish any words from. Not that it mattered what the bar was called, this was the address. 

I stepped inside, the interior even darker and dingier than the alley entrance, and looked around. Music played, loud enough to cover the normal din of conversation, not that it was really needed. Any conversations held here were conducted in brief, hushed whispers. But the music was a nice, if superficial, piece of security.

The bar was practically empty, a pair of men, or possibly women in the booth at one far corner, currently hunched over in a heated, if quiet, argument. To the left, inside a booth alongside the main wall, was my target. He wasn't alone: four others were positioned around the room, obvious security. Two by the back exit, one by his side, and the fourth standing to my right.

Make that five: The door to the kitchen swung open, and I caught a glimpse of a woman standing at the sink. Change of clothes or no, I immediately recognized her, which probably meant the burly bartender wasn't what he seemed either.

Didn't matter. They needed me far more than I needed them. 

I finally met the eyes of my target and nodded. He returned the movement, and his partner proceeded to pat me down. I waited until he escorted me to the table. "She's clean."

Seated at the table, the man, or really I should say teen, though his eyes made him look much older, nodded and motioned for me to sit, which I did.

He offered a drink, and I accepted, though neither of us drank. He seemed to examine me for a moment, seeming happy to wait for me to begin. He waited, but realized I had no intention of starting anything, and knowing that time was essential, he carefully folded his hands on the table and nodded. "Alright. You specifically asked for us, and your information on those bombs was perfect so here we are. Now either you're planting them, or you know who is. What do you want?"

I smiled, loving that I could direct exactly how this conversation would go. "Why, I'm hurt. The least we could do is introduce ourselves, don't you think? There's no reason for us being barbaric. My name is April Stone."

The smile was returned, though it was as forced as hell. "My name is Max. Max Dowell. Now that we know each other, can you please tell us what you want so we can get that bomb?" Tightlipped and hands clenched, he was the image of barely contained anger, something I knew was not his normal visage. Good research pays well, especially at times like this:

My smile never wavered, though I knew it wasn't at all reassuring. "I don't think so, Mr. Dowell- or should I say Mr. Maxwell. Duo Maxwell, pilot 02 and self proclaimed God of Death, or Shinigami, whichever you prefer. And over there, looking like he could kill me by just glaring, should be one Mr. Heero Yuy, pilot 01 guarding the back door with one Quatre Raberba Winner, multi-billionaire brother to 40 sisters, all born test-tube babies save for himself. The devastatingly handsome circus performer Trowa Barton, the ex-mercenary without a past escorted me to you, and one Wufei Chang, or more correctly, Chang Wufei, last remaining member of the Dragon Clan, is standing just behind you and glaring daggers at me. Of course, with Sally Po in the kitchen, you've already told me your bartender is probably another Preventor, although I actually don't know _him_…. Oh well, six out of seven isn't bad at all." I leaned in closer, both to drive my point home and to show them all I wasn't in the least afraid. "Now lets stop pussyfooting and get down to it. If you lie again, I'll leave, and someplace _very_ public goes boom. I don't have a conscious, but you do, which is why you're here. And just to note, I didn't plant the bomb."

I had expected Duo, the well-known outspoken one to speak, but it was Wufei, the irritable Chinese who exploded first. "How the HELL did you know that? Our records aren't hidden or sealed, they were destroyed- how could you hack into files that don't exist?!"

The others had moved in closer, and I sat back, flashing them a toothy smile. "I'm a reporter, gentlemen. And I'm _very_ good at my job. It wasn't easy, I assure you, but OZ did keep tabs on you, though some more than others. You'd be surprised how many soldiers are willing to regale you with tales about those Gundam Pilots, once you buy them a drink. Of course, I did have to grease a lot of palms, and spend a lot of time filtering out the fact from fiction, but it paid off in the end. Finding footage of you Mr. Maxwell, being captured: that was a stroke of luck, mainly because surprisingly _few_ pictures and press releases remain with any of you on them. They all have mysteriously…vanished. So it was nice to be able to put a face to a name. The rest of you, well I had to rely on descriptions, which have been amazingly accurate, considering it's been almost two years since the war- not including the Marie Maia incident."

Wufei began to yell, but a light hand on his shoulder stopped him short. Quatre, pale, blond, and obviously upset, though he did a good job of concealing it, shook his head. "We don't have time for that right now Wufei." He turned to me, blue eyes shadowed in the dark of the bar. "You told us there was another bomb, and that you'd only tell the Gundam pilots it's location if we met with you. We're here, where's the bomb?"

"And what do you want for it?" That would be the analytical, emotionless one, Trowa. Always keeping his eye on the big picture. I gave a slight nod in his direction and made a magician's pass across the table with my hand. A small, portable recording device, audio only, now lay in the middle of the ancient wood.

"I've already told you gentlemen, and ladies…" I nodded to Sally Po and another woman, both of whom had left the kitchen. "I'm a reporter. I'll tell you where the bomb is, and in exchange, I want a story. On micro-disk."

There was a very long pause and I met their eyes squarely. Of course, they'd been expecting a demand for money, or weaponry, or some nameless terrorist released from whatever prison he was locked up in. Obviously, I'd surprised them.

Duo, eyes a deep violet in the low light, seemed to speak for the whole group. "What?"

I shrugged. "It's simple. I want a story, or more specifically, several stories. One from each of you- including Ms. Po. In exchange, I'll tell you where the bomb is. Of course, I don't expect you to believe me, it's entirely possible that there is no bomb. So I'll tell you where it is first, and you can send off a subordinate or two to verify I'm telling the truth."

"What kind of story? I doubt you want fairy tales." Wufei sounded like he was caught between disbelief and the urge to destroy something. My smile broadened. "Exactly. I want stories from each of you, about yourselves. Your past, childhood, during the war, anything. I want something the public has never seen before, and you're the only ones who can give me that."

"And what's to stop us from not telling you anything once we find the bomb? Or from making something up?" I was a little surprised to Heero speak, but it wasn't completely unexpected. Of course, the monotone he used to ask the question cut through the hazy air like a knife. Ah, now here was my trump card.

"Well you see," I drawled, "it seems that this particular bomb is rather sensitive, you can't move or disarm it without setting the darned thing off, unless you happen to have a rather specific nine digit code. Of course, you should remember that more than three attempts on the code will set the thing off…. And as for lying, well I suppose you could, but I suspect that well trumped-up sense of honor and justice will keep you from doing that, once I have your word. Do we have a deal?"

Five pilots and one former soldier exchanged a few dozen looks, a round of slight nods travelling some semblance of s circle. At the end, Heero, Trowa and Wufei all paused, undecided, but eventually they too nodded, slight movements I wasn't supposed to notice. Little escapes me however. Quatre was the one to speak, face grim. "We give our word. One story for the bomb and code. _And_ the name of who set it ion the first place." 

I nodded. "Fair enough, though I'll tell you that with the code. The bomb is in a mega-mall about an hour or two from here. The Tribune mall, to be exact. You might want to send the little lady and the barkeep here out to verify. You'd have a little privacy for the storytelling that way. They'll find it on the main floor, attached to a main crossbeam on the ceiling. They're going to need a ladder."

The mentioned man and woman looked at Sally Po and left the moment she nodded. Now that we were alone, we could get down to business- once they called in and confirmed what I'd said. It wouldn't be too much of a wait. I stood and went to the bar, deciding to pour myself a drink, doubting they'd drugged everything. Uncorking a bottle of wine- a Picard, '97, full bodied, excellent year, I turned back to a sea of rather angry faces. "Why the Tribune? It's a mega-mall yes, but not extremely popular. There's bigger malls in the area, so why there?" Quatre's brow was furrowed in thought, and I forced myself to bite my tongue. He might not know it, but he _was_ adorable when perplexed. Not that I'd let that change anything, mind you.

I drank straight from the bottle, not knowing or caring where proper wineglasses were. "Well, I would have expected you t keep abreast of the news, but a certain religious member just _happens_ to be visiting, and I guess our little maniac wanted the celebration to be a hit." Sally blanched. "My God, the Pope's midnight sermon. They're expecting almost three hundred _thousand_. Whoever this is, he couldn't have chosen a worse time….All those people…."

"You can see why I believe you won't bother making something up. Of course, you don't have to look at me like I've condemned you to a fate worse than death. I'm changing names, of course, and I'm only recording for my sake, I'll never play it in public. _And_ I'm letting you choose what to tell me, so don't act like I'm a vulture or something. I don't want to endanger anyone, or expose your lives, I just want to provide the public with something they'd never have elsewise. You can see my position."

"Maybe, but that doesn't mean I have to like it." Sally walked behind the counter grabbed a handful of bottles, walking back and setting one in front of each pilot, also forcing the still-standing Heero, Wufei and Trowa to sit. When Quatre made to argue, she raised a hand. "Trust me, we're going to need it. One bottle won't get you drunk. It'll be about an hour before we get any confirmation, yes or no, anyway." Pointedly ignoring me she slid into the seat next to Wufei, who muttered something that brought a slight smile to her lips, though only that. Sitting back at the bar, I knew none of the others would speak to me until necessary. Not that I cared particularly; I was forcing them into a position not one of them liked in order to get my story. But I _would_ get my story. And in the end, that's all I cared about.

*******************************

Muwahahaha! Don't worry, I will be continuing this- it just jammed itself into my brain this morning and wouldn't let me go until I wrote it…and to think, it all stemmed from the first paragraph I read in my TV guide this morning……Hrmm, quite the inspiration, I'd say

.

I plan on having a different story from each pilot, of course, but the kinds of stories you're are going to find are probably going to be a bit of a surprise, at least for some.

However- I DON'T HAVE IT ALL WORKED OUT!!!! If you have an idea for a pilot, or Sally, TELL ME!!!!!!!!!!! This is one story I'm really requesting input on.

On the flipside, did you like it so far? Hate it? I Really would love it if you told me _Why,_ either way.

And check out my other fics! (Shameless self-plug #2)

And I love to chat! Add me to your MSN if you want to chat, rant, or argue. I'm always up for all three. (I dabble in RP too.)

Elemental_t@hotmail.com

I am the Breeze of Wisdom, I am the Wind of Insanity.

~The Elemental


End file.
